Someone Else's Memories
by Unsuspected
Summary: He'd left something. Not on purpose. A clump—not even, just four, folded up and rubber-banded together and ripped—photographs.


He'd left something. Not on purpose. At least, you don't think so.

A clump—not even, just four, folded up and rubber-banded together and ripped, mostly at the edges—photographs.

And they were only sort of photographs… They weren't on the traditional glossy photo paper, or even something mildly sturdy. Just ordinary paper.

You didn't think anything of those pictures, not at first. Just another bit of that Doctor left for you to wonder about.

Besides, you were too busy with the library and the swimming pool—and that the swimming pool was _in_ the library—and everything about that strange blue box and that strange, raggedy man.

Far too concerned with that crack in your wall and the five minutes that never came and the apple you gave to him. The one with the face drawn on it, just like your mother always did.

To spare even a moment of thought on that silly collection of photographs seemed pointless.

The first, it was just a couple of people, smiling, just behind them a background that couldn't possibly be anywhere near here, or maybe even Earth. That didn't seem to have any effect on the subjects—a blond girl and a man whose eyes seemed, even in the stillness of the photograph, to be constantly searching for something.

They were all like this, the man staying the same, but with different women in different places. A woman with dark hair in some dimly lit place, who like the man, seemed to be looking everywhere at once, unable to take in all of it. A woman with vibrant hair like yours, beaming, in a landscape so bright it was difficult to make out any specific shapes.

The last one was the strangest, for where you had been expecting to see the same man with the darting eyes, there was another man in a heavy coat, beside the same blond girl from the first picture.

But you didn't really let any of this bother you.

After all, everyone kept photographs, didn't they? Though there did seem to be a surprising lack of your parents' portraits around, now that you'd thought of it.

Well, that, you supposed, was for another time.

And so were those photographs.

And for nearly ten years, you merely kept that small collection of someone else's memories tucked away in your drawer, taking time to look at them so rarely that you nearly forgot they were even there at all.

But never quite entirely.

Because there was something about those eyes that had just the etchings of familiarity. You didn't know what. Whatever it was—it just couldn't be quite the same, because if it was, you would have recognized it immediately. But there was definitely something, and you just couldn't forget about it.

And when you were sixteen, when you were convinced you had gotten over this Doctor of yours, you realized.

What he was wearing, the man in the third photo... It was extraordinarily like a more complete, more polished copy of the clothes the Doctor had been wearing.

Maybe they'd just been friends, though. The Doctor and whoever the man was in the photos. That's what you told yourself, when you noticed. Maybe they'd—

But then you realized that the spark of recognition, that eerie hint of something you knew in the eyes of Photograph Man—both of them—

You knew where you'd seen it before.

The Doctor with his blue box and those strange cravings of his.

But you forget about it.

Sort of, at least.

You asked Rory about it, because he was good with things like that, putting names to things, and just sort of thinking in general.

But he had no idea, he said, and he certainly looked fairly annoyed that you were back to the Doctor obsession.

And you tried to forget about it, and you succeeded, for the most part, but there were always those flashes of memory and—

You simply let it be.

Until that one trip, after you'd started traveling with that dangerous, wonderful man.

Because it looked far too much like the place in that first photograph for you not to think of it.

"Have you been here before? With someone? Someone, oh, I don't know, maybe blond? I suppose that was you? Not her boyfriend? Do you do that—take couples to see the universe? I think it was you, Doctor. And—"

"Rose," he said.

"You said we were going t—"

"That's her name. Rose Tyler."

"She went missing a few years back, didn't she? They—they said she died, didn't they?" you asked, more curious than ever. You never quite knew why, but the name stuck in your head, despite being one of many proclaimed to be dead that day. "2006 was it? Is she—"

"She's fantastic," he said, and you could tell he believed it, or at least wanted to.

"There are—others, yeah? And you— What about them?"

"Martha. Martha Jones. And Donna Noble. Safe. Happy. They're better."

And you left it at that, because you did kind of want to look around a bit. After all, this was an actual planet, and it looked relatively safe, which was really kind of a first.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Second Doctor Who fic. I like it more than the first, at least. Hm. As I'm writing this, I haven't quite figured out who I'm going to mark as the characters. Maybe just Amy. Definitely her. Maybe Ten? Well, my apologies in advance if it's not quite right. Well, anyway, thanks very much for reading.<strong>


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